


Fall of a sparrow

by under_a_linden_tree



Category: Slow Show - mia_ugly
Genre: Crisis of Faith, Guilt, Introspection, M/M, S3, the author self-projects, william is a poor bean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:53:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22120597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/under_a_linden_tree/pseuds/under_a_linden_tree
Summary: When the team gets to rest in a village for a few days, William uses the chance to pray. The guilt he feels begins to overwhelm him, so he tries to come to terms with himself but that is easier said than done.
Relationships: Erasmus/William (Warlock - Slow Show)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 38
Collections: Apple-bottom Jorts, Ixnael’s Recommendations, Ixnael’s SFW corner, Slow Show Metaverse, Warlock fic





	Fall of a sparrow

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Slow Show](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20395261) by [mia_ugly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mia_ugly/pseuds/mia_ugly). 



> A great thank you to all the people in the WPH server but especially to my beta AJ/narcissisticspaghetti.
> 
> So we know that S3 is essentially William's personal crisis. As usual, I went ahead and self-projected.
> 
> For context, I imagine this happens a few day after the dream, when he has already had some time to process it, the poor thing.

It had been months since William last came face to face with a church. At first he had felt regret. Over time, that had faded to indifference. Looking at the weather-faded grey stones of the village’s time-worn chapel it changed again, to guilt.

If the Inquisition were to catch up with them, they would most likely excommunicate him. He understood why. Conspiring against the church to hide the hellspawn who had brought the Plague upon their land, deserting his parish to consort with a witch and assisting a conman with no intention of redeeming him were worthy of expulsion on their own. Perhaps, they would burn the others at the stake for their heresy if they ever caught up with them. They’d burn himself too, come think of it.

At yet, none of these things were the sins he had come to atone for. The child had a name, and so had the witch and the conman.

William took a deep breath. He had never hesitated to enter a church before, but things were different now - he was guilt-ridden. With a trembling hand, he touched the tufa-grey stone and leaned against it. Even a passer-by would have seen the shaking of his arm.

The stone didn’t burn him, nor did it whither under his hand, as he half expected it to. Instead, the finely carved vines, draped in relief around the portal, dug into the skin of his palm, sharp and roughened by the rain. His fingers travelled from there, hesitantly, until he reached the wood of the door. It was heavy, terribly heavy.

Light flooded the chapel, bright and cold and distant. The altar in the centre was carefully draped with a hand-stitched blanket, surrounded by wooden pews. It had all the enchantment of a forest hideaway. It felt loved.

It felt as though William shouldn’t be here.

Prayer was an old friend to William. He had prayed for the entirety of their journey, for their health and safety. Why did it seem so hard to sink to his knees now? His limbs felt heavy and leaden, like they were not under his own control. His hands still trembled when he folded them, cold and stiff.

The tiles were cold beneath his knees, cracks digging into his clothes, tugging at his skin. Another heavy breath, then he closed his eyes.

How does one go about asking a favour from God if one cannot atone for one’s sins in turn?

“Good God”, he started out. It sounded wrong.  He started again. “Lord, I have come to pray.”

How does one go about telling a story that is so much more than that? How does one re-tell one’s heart?

“You know that I have always served You well. I have held mass in my parish for twenty years, I have studied the scripture, I have given sacraments to worthy people. Never before have I willingly broken Your commandments.”

It was true. If he were completely honest with himself, he had dabbled in sin now and then. But he had never murdered, worshipped a pagan God, or dishonoured his father and mother.

“I am doing what I consider doing right by You. Joshua - he’s just a child, it cannot be Your plan to have him murdered. We have sworn an oath to protect him. If - if that had been wrong of me, You would have given me a sign by now, wouldn’t You?”

There was no sign now, either. No fire to burn him away, no angel to come and smite him down, no chasm opening in the floor beneath him to suck him down to Hell.

What he was doing was one thing, but there was yet another that he needed to address. He had been given a piece of advice by his father, when he was still a young boy: Saying it out loud is sorting it out. So William sighed and shifted. The tile pressed into his flesh, cutting it a little, but he did not feel the pain. The only sting he felt was the one digging into his heart, deeper and sharper with every moment. Could it be right if it hurt like this?

“I am not criticising your divine plan,” he continued, “I only want to know. Will there ever be just a little happiness for me? Can’t I ever be content?”

That’s the thing, you see. William hasn’t felt content for a long time. The last time he can recall being happy was when he had moved into his parish, proud of himself for the things he had achieved. That feeling had changed soon, when he had realised there was so little he could do, nothing he could improve. He had lacked purpose until the very day he had run into a young woman clutching a baby to her chest.

“I don’t want to run away anymore. Not from the Inquisition and not from myself either. I know You cannot… fix things for everybody but - please, keep Joshua safe and Julia... and Erasmus, too, of course. Don’t punish them for my faults.”

This is the point where William’s cheeks redden. He had never said it before, has not even dared to think it freely but no secret can be hidden from God. Priests aren’t supposed to love, at least not anyone in particular.

“Erasmus doesn’t know that I - that I feel for him. He has done nothing to tempt me. Please, please don’t punish him. Forgive me, if You can. If not, well, I will have to live with that.”

He didn’t ask for God to solve his problem, to take the heartache away. Perhaps he was being tested and he had to prove himself. And yet, William knew this feeling, this softness all around his edges, this warmth. The serenity that suddenly accompanied the companionable silences between them. This draw that pulled him towards Erasmus whenever they were apart. Yes, it had taken a dream for him to realise it for what it was but that didn’t make him any less enamoured.

Suddenly, there was a knock against the chapel door and a low voice calling out to him.

“William? You in there? We’ve got to hurry.”

Damn. He had hoped they would be safe here, at least until the worst of the snowfall was over; but he knew that edge to Erasmus’s voice well. It meant danger.

“I’m not choosing him over You,” William whispered as he opened his eyes and made the sign of the cross.

And then, there was a gust of wind and a hand on his wrist. He hadn’t heard the creaking of the door when Erasmus entered and for a moment, he wondered if Erasmus had caught that last sentence. His fingers were frightfully cold on William’s skin and he was breathing hard. Fear shrouded his eyes.

“I’m so glad I found you,” Erasmus mumbled as he pulled William to his feet. “They are close.”

For a moment, he thought that Erasmus would seek to embrace him. His hand was still lingering on his arm but after another few seconds, he turned away and let go.

“Let’s leave, priest. Don’t want the Inquisition catching you here. First place they’d look for you.”

_ There you go. Shut yourself off, harden your heart. You can worry another day. _


End file.
